


Rescue

by ephemeraltea



Series: R is for... [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alistair and Warden friendship feels, Alistair wants his bestie to be happy, Fort Drakon, M/M, Rescue Mission, Zev and Al to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeraltea/pseuds/ephemeraltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran and the Warden have a miscommunication about a certain earring and have no chance to work it out before an inconvenient and life-threatening imprisonment.</p><p>**bumped up to M for the last chapter, just to be safe**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Darrian could feel tears pressing behind his eyes as he rushed back to his room, alone, replaying his interactions with Zevran throughout the day and trying to figure out what had gone wrong. They had killed Taliesen after being cornered in a back alley only hours ago. When Darrian had gone to the library at the Arl’s estate to pull Zevran away to celebrate, he had been turned away coldly, even harshly. Had Zevran meant it when he said he was done with the Crows? Maybe Taliesen had meant more to Zevran than he had revealed? 

But that didn’t seem right, somehow. Zevran had smiled at Darrian after the fight had ended, a smile full and bright, full of mischief and anticipation. He had pulled Darrian aside, away from the others, and kissed him like someone who, for the first time in his life, could taste the promise of time.

Darrian shook his head of the memory, leaning against the door to his room as he closed it behind him. He was tempted in that moment to go straight back to Zevran and recreate that kiss. But no, Zevran had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in coming to Darrian’s bed tonight. And Darrian needed to figure out why. 

What had happened next?

A bored shout from Morrigan had called them back. Alistair had been hurt, and they were losing daylight, so they had decided to return for the night and regroup, with plans to meet Anora’s handmaiden outside the castle in the morning. Darrian was still suspicious of a trap, but it was worth going anyway, if only for reconnaissance. He had been saying as much to Zevran while they had been walking a little ways ahead of the others. And then, out of nowhere, Zevran had offered him an earring.

It was one of the strangest conversations Darrian had ever had with Zevran. Zevran held out the earring, claiming it was some sort of payment for killing Taliesen. He described taking the earring from his first contract, but he spoke with a detachment in his voice, telling Darrian he could sell the trinket for whatever it was worth.

That had stung Darrian. For just a moment, he had thought Zevran had been giving him a gift out of affection. But, like everything with Zevran it seemed, the earring was nothing more than a transaction.

Darrian didn’t want that, and he told Zevran as much. 

“I’ll only take it if it means something.”

Zevran had balked and recoiled away.

“You are a very frustrating man, you know that?” he had said. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this. You don’t want the earring, you don’t get the earring. Very simple.”

And he had sped away ahead.

Darrian had rolled his eyes, fed up with Zevran’s pride. However it had been at the start, their relationship had long stopped being about just sex to Darrian. Maybe Wynne was right, and love was making him weaker, but he’d spent every night with Zevran since the first time. And so Darrian ignored the twinge in his chest promising a broken heart should their relationship continue as it was and went to Zevran after dinner, anyway.

Darrian could feel the crack ripple through him when Zevran turned him away.

Zevran had never turned him away.

“Is something wrong?” Darrian asked, when Zevran had flinched from his touch in the library.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure?” said Darrian. “You kind of look like you --”

“Enough!” Zevran snapped, and he whirled, knocking Darrian’s hand down. Darrian took a step back.

“I said not interested,” said Zevran, and he wouldn’t look at Darrian. “Can you not understand that? There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I’m certain. Do...do those!”

So Darrian had turned quickly and strode from the room, too shocked and hurt to do anything else.

Now, in his room, Darrian put his head in head hands, massaging his forehead. There was an obvious answer to all of this, one that Darrian had been trying not to think about for weeks. Darrian was in love, and Zevran had no interest in such things. Now that Darrian had made it clear that he wanted more than just sex, Zevran wanted to done with him.

Darrian felt like he was about to shatter as he layed in bed, the spot next to him cold. It took him a long time to fall asleep, and when he did, he dreamt of the first night. Of striding up to Zevran and kissing him outside of his tent, after everyone else had already gone to sleep. Of Zevran, stripping him of his armor. Zevran, hovering over him. Zevran, laughing and moaning in his ear.

 

***

“Morrigan, Leliana, Sten, you’re with me,” said Darrian after breakfast.

Alistair immediately began to protest, but everyone else looked to Zevran. Out of the corner of his eye, Darrian saw Zevran minutely flinch, but otherwise didn’t react.

“No, Alistair,” said Darrian, and his voice felt somehow more commanding today. “You’re still limping today, and anyway you’re too recognizable. This is a covert operation. And we need to guarantee at least one of us stays safe, if things go wrong.”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Alistair. “And if it’s covert, why bring  _ Sten _ ?”

Darrian turned and walked briskly into the hall, knowing Alistair would follow.

“If you want to be all sneaky, I mean,” Alistair was saying, limping after Darrian. “Why aren’t you bringing Zev?”

Darrian turned, and though Alistair was slow about many things, the expression on Darrian’s face must have been clear.

“What happened?” said Alistair, and the genuine worry in his voice surprised Darrian.

“I didn’t think you liked Zevran that much,” he said.

“I’m not sure I do, but I like you, and you like being with him,” said Alistair. “Not that we’ve -- you know, talked about it much except for what I’ve gathered from weird coded conversations with the others.”

Darrian shrugged, his arms crossed.

“Do you love him?”

“Why are you asking that?” said Darrian, startled.

“Well, if you love him, it’ll be easier to work out, right?”

“Not everything is that easy, Al. Love isn’t always something from a storybook.”

“But you do?” said Alistair again, and he was smirking in an infuriatingly knowing kind of way. “Love him?”

“I really can’t do this right now,” said Darrian. “We’ll talk when I get back. Just -- hold down the fort, okay?”

Alistair saluted mockingly, Darrian rolled his eyes, and Alistair pulled him into a one-armed hug, ruffling his hair out of its ponytail.

 

***

Darrian would never call Leliana and Sten part of the B-team to their faces.

But he couldn’t help but wonder how this would have all turned out if he had had his A-team.

They had barely managed to take down Howe and get to Anora, and here they were, fifty yards from the exit, surrounded by guards. For a wild moment, Darrian wanted to attack. He would have, if it had just been him. But there wasn’t any sense in getting his friends killed.

Darrian sheathed his daggers and surrendered.

 

***

“He WHAT?”

Alistair’s chair was knocked to the ground as he shot up, rounding on the group led by Anora.

“Alistair, calm down,” said Eamon. “Let them speak.”

Alistair could feel the panic rising in him as Anora told them how Loghain’s guard had taken Darrian away to Fort Drakon. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“We have to get him back!” Anora was saying.

“How could you let this happen?” Alistair snapped at Morrigan.

“ _ I _ did not let anything happen. The situation unfolded as it did, and we are lucky our Warden is still alive. I suggest we hurry if we expect him to stay that way.”

“What have I missed?” said Zevran, pushing the door ajar. “I heard yelling, and not the fun kind.”

“Loghain captured Darrian and took him to Fort Drakon,” said Alistair flatly and watched the blood drain from Zevran’s face, leaving his usual warm complexion ashy.

Zevran turned and left the room. Alistair followed him, ignoring his limp.

“Where are you going?” Eamon called.

“Fort Drakon, I guess,” said Alistair. He could hear Zevran down the hall getting his gear together, louder and more clumsily than he would have normally.

“But you’re still healing!” said Wynne.

“I can handle it,” said Alistair.

Zevran appeared, fully dressed in his light armor, daggers and bow strapped to his back.

“Hurry up,” he said brusquely to Alistair.

“Will you help me with my armor?”

It was a testament to how distracted Zevran was that he didn’t make a single innuendo while doing so.

 

***

Darrian was thrown hard to the floor, gasping as the guards, laughing, took turns to kick him in the stomach. His nose was bleeding from the beating they had already given him when he had first arrived, and his ribs felt like they were on fire. They had stripped him of his clothing, leaving him in only his underclothes. Darrian could feel himself on the verge of losing consciousness as he heard the cell door clang closed and the guards walk away.

“You got off easy,” said the prisoner in the neighboring cell. “You won’t next time.”

“They’ll come for me,” said Darrian to himself.

“Who?”

“Alistair….Zevran,” Darrian whispered, a prayer.

“Two people taking on Fort Drakon?” said the stranger. “Must be a couple of fucking fools.”

Darrian smiled, tasting blood, and passed out.

 

***

Zevran was quiet for the journey through the city. He lead Alistair through back alleys as if he had spent years in Denerim.

“Been studying maps?” asked Alistair.

“I could not sleep,” said Zevran.

“I’ll bet,” said Alistair.

Zevran didn’t respond.

Once they were outside of the fort, Alistair pulled Zevran aside.

“Okay, how should we do this?” he asked. “I mean, these people, clearly bad guys -- I won’t mourn them. But is a bloodbath the way to go? I mean once we start cutting our way -- hey, wait up!”

Alistair sped to catch up with Zevran, who turned and continued to walk almost immediately.

Alistair was disturbed. Zevran wasn’t necessarily a warm person, but he was almost always joking and smirking -- or at the very least  _ leering _ . Now he was blank, his demeanor stiff and purposeful.

“Put on your helmet and leave it to me,” Zevran said simply.

When they met the first guard, Zevran’s posture changed so suddenly Alistair stared, speechless (which was probably for the best). Zevran sold the performance of being a disgruntled delivery person exceedingly well. The guard let them by without blinking.

Alistair stayed silent as they went, allowing Zevran to continue to spin the story. When they reached a female guard, he flirted with a warm smile that vanished as soon as the guard walked away.

And when they met the first set of guards where persuasion was not an option, Zevran fought with such severity and mercilessness that he more than made up for Alistair’s less-than-top-form fighting. 

When the last body fell, Alistair looked to Zevran, who was covered in blood, and found he was worried. When had he started seeing Zevran as a friend? But then again, it’s hard not to like the person your best friend is so clearly enamored with. Alistair trusted Darrian’s opinion more than anyone else’s. If he loved Zevran, of course Alistair would, too.

“Zevran,” Alistair said quietly. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Keep moving,” Zevran snarled.

They went from room to room, Zevran swearing each time he broke a lockpick, until they found the right door. The head guard unleashed his dogs, and Alistair sighed sadly. He always hated killing mabari -- it wasn’t their fault who their owners were. Zevran didn’t have any hesitation. Where he was normally all stealth and shadows, Zevran was bounding recklessly through the room, straight through the pack of mabari, slashing as he went. Alistair followed, giving cover where he could.

It was over fairly quickly, and Zevran was on his knees, hands shaking as he dug through the guards pockets, producing a ring of keys. He stumbled to the cell, and Alistair got a look at Darrian for the first time since they entered the room.

He was lying on his side on the floor, naked except for his underclothes. Fresh bruises were blooming on his face and down his torso, and dried blood was smeared across his face. Alistair couldn’t tell if he was conscious. He followed Zevran to the cell, keeping his eye on the door to the room as an afterthought -- how loud had their fighting been, and how long until someone came to investigate?

Zevran’s hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t get the cell door open. Where before he had been all composure and blank expression, Zevran had cracked. There was raw fear and worry on his face. Alistair leaned his shield against the wall and touched Zevran’s arm lightly, taking the keys and unlocking the cell door for him.

“Thank the maker you’re alright,” said Alistair as Darrian met his eyes and smiled weakly. He kneeled down and reached out to lift Darrian to his feet -- something he could do easily without much help from Darrian himself, as Alistair was so much larger than the elf.

“Look at you,” said Darrian, his voice raspy. “Coming to my rescue like a big hero.”

“I’m not alone,” said Alistair, and nodded his head toward the cell door where Zevran was standing.

“My dear Warden,” said Zevran, and his voice was rough. “Did you miss me?”

Darrian tried to take a step forward and stumbled. Alistair steadied him.

“Where’s your armor?” Alistair asked.

“Chest, over there,” said Darrian. “The guard locked it.”

Alistair made sure Darrian was steady leaning against the bars, then slid past Zevran. He made a show of trying to get the keyring from the lock as he watched Zevran walk into the cell. Zevran reached out, his hands ghosting over Darrian: first his chest, then his shoulders, then his face -- as if taking stock of him, but not wanting to touch him fully and risk hurting him. Darrian held Zevran’s hand to his face and closed his eyes, and Zevran melted, winding his free arm around Darrian’s waist and resting their foreheads together. Alistair had never seen Zevran look so open and vulnerable. It made him glad to have an excuse to turn away and give them some privacy while he went to collect Darrian’s things.

 

***

Darrian turned his head to kiss Zevran’s palm.

“Darrian,” Zevran said on a sigh, and Darrian was so exhausted and drained that he didn’t think before kissing him. Zevran didn’t pull away, though he kissed Darrian the same way he was touching him, as if he might break.

They only pulled apart at the sound of Alistair clearing his throat after he’d returned with Darrian’s armor. It took longer than usual for Darrian to dress, even with Zevran helping, his touch continuously delicate. Darrian’s ribcage felt on fire, and he was pretty sure something was fractured. Zevran helped him stand once more, stroking his hair absently. Zevran kept a firm but delicate grip on Darrian as they stood.

“Um, guys?” said a voice as they were leaving the cell. Darrian turned back to see the neighboring prisoner sticking his face through the bars. “That was lovely and everything, but a little help?”

 

***

The neighboring prisoner had peeled off as soon as they were out of the fort. Darrian wasn’t sure how he felt about the bloodbath he had inspired Zevran and Alisair to partake in, but he was happy that they didn’t have many obstacles leaving the fort, though they did have to climb out a window to avoid the guards in the main entrance hall. Darrian cried out in pain as Alistair lowered him to Zevran, and his vision flashed white. He slumped against Zevran, breathing deeply.

“Not long now, my Warden,” Zevran said softly. “Just a short walk more.”

But Darrian felt woozy, and as he looked at Zevran he was suddenly overcome with all the memories from the previous day. His thoughts swam in his head and he didn’t think before speaking, his voice cracking as he did so.

“If you’re done with me, why did you come for me?”

Darrian’s vision swam, and he closed his eyes to make it stop. The world spun around him, then there was nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's gonna hurt before it gets better

When Alistair had reached the ground after climbing out of the window, Darrian had already passed out and Zevran was holding him, kneeling on the ground and looking devastated. Alistair didn’t ask what had happened, but he knew enough from Wynne to realize that Darrian losing consciousness wasn’t a good sign. He scooped Darrian up and hastened his step.

“Zevran, we have to keep moving,” Alistair said over his shoulder. For a moment Alistair didn’t think Zevran was going to get up. Then Zevran once again wiped his face of all emotion. He stood resolutely and broke into a brisk jog, taking the lead and navigating them back through the winding alleyways.

Wynne began treating Darrian as soon as they walked through the door; she was muttering incantations and pulling out poultices before Alistair had even laid Darrian on his bed. Barlo, Darrian’s mabari, was sitting by the bed, keeping out of Wynne’s way but whining insistently. Zevran kept his distance, but followed, leaning on the door frame while Wynne worked.

“Is he going to be okay?” Alistair asked.

Wynne propped up Darrian’s head while she tipped a potion down his throat.

“I have to work, Alistair,” said Wynne dismissively.

Alistair didn’t like that answer. His stomach was in knots. He hated seeing his friend in such rough shape. They had been in some tough fights, but Darrian had always been armed and armored. There was a difference to fighting an opponent and getting the shit beat out of you by armored guards while you lay naked on the floor.

Alistair didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“I’m going to get cleaned up,” said Alistair, walking toward the door. “You should, too,” he added to Zevran. “There isn’t anything more we can do here.”

Zevran lifted his gaze from Darrian to Alistair, and his face was blank. Alistair wondered how long it took him to perfect that practiced countenance. He wondered how many times in the past months he’d entirely misjudged Zevran’s reactions.

He placed a hand briefly on Zevran’s shoulder and left him to his watch.

When Alistair returned twenty minutes later, Wynne was cleaning up, wiping the dried blood from Darrian’s mouth. Zevran was sitting on the floor just inside, Barlo beside him.

“How is he?” Alistair asked.

“Stable,” said Wynne. “He most likely lost consciousness due to pain and possibly a minor head injury. He has a couple of broken ribs and a fractured wrist. There was quite a bit of internal bleeding, but he’s taken to the potions well. I’ve put him in a prolonged sleep to quicken the healing process and reduce the amount of pain he’s feeling. He should wake up in the next day or so. Until then, the best thing we can do is let him rest.”

Zevran had put his head in his hands.

“There’s nothing more we can do now but wait,” said Wynne. “You should get something to eat. Sitting around and looking at him in this state isn’t going to do anybody any good.”

She placed a hand on Alistair’s arm as she passed, and looked momentarily down at Zevran before leaving.

Alistair knew there was no point in watching Darrian lying there unconscious, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to sit with his friend. He also knew in his gut there was no point in trying to get Zevran to come down to dinner.

“You should at least get settled in a chair,” said Alistair. “I’ll bring us some food.”

* * *

 

Zevran hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. The food Alistair had brought sat cold and untouched a foot away. Not even Barlo appeared to have an appetite.  Alistair had stayed for a while, talking. Telling stories. Speaking reassurances -- for himself or Zevran or just to talk, Zevran wasn’t sure. He never spoke anything in return. That didn’t seem to bother Alistair. What a strange man.

Zevran sat alone now with his elbows on his knees, watching. Waiting. Thinking.

Darrian was so still. Still as a statue. Still as a…

Zevran breathed in deeply and let out one long sigh. This wasn’t what he had signed up for, leaving Antiva. He was supposed to have died.

Maybe this was a more fitting punishment, he thought. Death would have been too kind. Much more fitting to watch someone suffer who he had grown to care about -- to watch them leave him. To watch them die.

Zevran bowed his head, clutching at his hair and yanking, trying to ground himself.

He breathed in deeply once more.

He returned his gaze to Darrian.

He waited.

 

It wasn’t until the following evening before Darrian stirred awake. Zevran hadn’t left the room for more than a few minutes at a time. He hadn’t slept. Their companions stopped by periodically throughout the day to check on Darrian. Leliana and Alistair would try to speak to him, but Zevran never answered. He hadn’t spoken at all since the last words he had said to Darrian.

Wynne was there when Darrian woke up. She was checking his wounds, making sure his ribs were healed. Zevran’s heart leapt as he watched Darrian’s eyelids fluttering, heard him groan as he shifted in the bed.

Zevran was out of the door before Darrian would have a chance to register full consciousness. He moved swiftly down the hall and into an empty room. Over the past day, Zevran had gone into a meditation similar to one he had learned while training to be a Crow: he had focused on emptying his mind, wiping himself of emotion and fear. But it had been a meditation he had barely been able to hold onto. The moment Darrian had begun to awake, Zevran could feel himself crack open. He had kept the fear and anger and distress at bay, but he had not swallowed it, and now it was surging forth to consume him.

He slammed into the far side of the empty room, punching into the wall as hard as he could. Once, twice, three times he bashed his fist into the wood, feeling his bones shatter and the blood gushing around his knuckles.

He hadn’t heard the footsteps behind him. He whirled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, his bloody fist raised and going to strike. With speed and strength that Zevran never would have expected, Wynne caught his arm before it connected with her face. She stared at him with intensity, and Zevran dropped his arm heavily to his side.

Wynne didn’t say a word as she reached out once more for his hand, lifting the bloody, broken mess up to her face for closer examination. Zevran had an appreciation then for the amount of gore Wynne must have seen in her time. She didn’t flinch at the sight.

Wynne pulled Zevran gently over to a chair. He sat, and she kneeled next to him. She handed him a potion, and he drank while she chanted over his broken hand, doing her best to coax his bones into knitting back together. After a few moments, she wrapped his hand in a piece of clean linen. Wynne held Zevran’s hand for a moment longer than was necessary, then placed his hand gently on his knee.

She sighed, looking directly into his eyes, her expression flat.

“You are a complete fool,” she said. Then she stood and walked from the room, leaving him.

Zevran didn’t return to Darrian’s room. He felt angry and vulnerable and confused and more relieved than he'd felt in his life. So he walked, zombie-like, to the room he had been assigned to share with Ogrhen (by name only -- everyone had known where he would actually spend his nights). He collapsed on one of the small beds. It had been so long since he cried that he hadn’t realized it was happening until the moments before sleep took him.

 

* * *

 

Wynne expressly forbade Darrian from getting out of bed until the next morning.

“I don’t care how tough you want to look, you were beaten literally senseless and there’s nothing you need to get up for right now,” said Wynne when he had tried to protest. “The world can do without your heroics for twelve more hours.”

Darrian hadn’t wanted to get up to deal with politics and world saving -- he completely agreed that could wait until tomorrow. But he had a feeling Wynne probably already knew that and had simply wanted to avoid confrontation with Darrian about Zevran. He knew Wynne didn’t approve, and he didn’t feel like pushing the subject either.

Darrian had spent the hours before being captured slowly reaching the conclusion that Zevran didn’t want him for anything deeper than sex, but it still stung more than his cracked ribs that Zevran hadn’t been to see him in the hours since he had woken up. There was a part of him that had hoped, seeing Zevran coming to his rescue, that he had been wrong. And it was fuzzy, but he could have sworn that there was vulnerability and fear in Zevran’s eyes when he had held Darrian in the cell.

But as Wynne described it, Darrian had been in worse shape than she’d ever seen him. There was a good chance his head wasn’t working right. He had to see things as they were: every single other member of the party had come to see him since he had woken up, even Oghren. Everyone was showing him more affection than they ever had before. Morrigan had even hugged him, once everyone else had left the room.

Zevran was distancing himself, and Darrian wasn’t going to cling to someone who didn’t want to be with him.

“Okay, food!” announced Alistair excitedly, backing into the room with a large wooden tray piled precariously with four times the food Darrian was likely to actually eat. “I may have gotten overexcited,” added Alistair, seeing Darrian’s eyebrows shoot up. “I wasn’t sure what you would want.” He placed the tray on the bedside table and pulled up a chair. Barlo perked up at the smell and Alistair threw him a full sausage.

Darrian didn’t talk much while they ate and instead prodded Alistair with questions about Anora and what he thought of the upcoming Landsmeet.

“Can we stop pretending you actually care about this right now?” said Alistair, after giving him a basic rundown of the conversations he’d had with Eamon and Anora in the time he had been unconscious.

“I do care about it,” said Darrian, and he meant it.

“Yeah, I know, saving Ferelden and all that,” said Alistair. “I mean the more immediate ‘now’.”

Darrian picked at some bread and didn’t look up or say anything.

“Look, I don’t know why he hasn’t been to see you yet,” said Alistair with his usual amount of subtlety and grace. “But you should know he sat on the floor, right there, the entire time you were out. I only saw him get up to pee. He didn’t eat, I’m not sure if he slept. He just sat there and watched. And while it was a decent kind of creepy -- I think it was his way of dealing with how scared he was.”

Darrian had stopped picking at the bread, and while he didn’t look at Alistair directly, he had tilted his head to show he was listening.

“I’m compelled to tell you all this because as much as that elf talks, I didn’t realize until our rescue mission that he rarely actually _says_ anything. At least to the larger group. But the way he is with you…”

Alistair had trailed off, and Darrian looked up to meet his gaze.

"It's funny you say that," said Darrian. "I always got the sense with Zevran that no one has ever taken the time to actually listen to him. I ask him basic questions about himself, and he lights up, like he's never had anyone ask before."

“I think he’s trying,” said Alistair. “In his own strange, twisted way. And I really think he’s afraid of how much he cares about you.”

Darrian looked back to his bread.

“You romanticize everything,” Darrian mumbled, and Alistair laughed.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “Someone’s got to, with our sorry lot.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

Darrian had stayed true to his word to Wynne and didn’t leave his bed for the rest of the day, but it had been hours now since Alistair had left. Everyone else was asleep, and the silence of the estate pressed on Darrian’s ears. He couldn’t sleep. He knew he shouldn’t, but Darrian found himself sitting in wait -- for Zevran, for some sign that Alistair was right, for a reason to hope that his feelings wouldn’t go unrequited.

Cautiously, Darrian swung his legs around to the side of the bed and sat up. He was stiff and sore, but it felt more from his lengthy immobility than injury. Wynne had done a wonderful job healing him, considering the state he had been in just over a day ago.

Darrian stretched his limbs gingerly as he walked passed a snoring Barlo to the window overlooking the courtyard. He opened it and sat on the small seat under the windowsill, letting the cool night air wash over him. The Arl’s estate was eerily quiet, even being so close to the market sector of Denerim. In the Alienage, there had always been a continuous bustle of sound, even through the night and early hours of the morning. He missed that now. He would have liked the distraction.

Although if it hadn’t been so quiet, Darrian may never have heard the telltale footsteps outside of his door. He smirked in spite of himself as he looked out of the window.

“If you don’t come in here, Zev, I’ll just follow you out there,” he said after a few moments when the footsteps stopped progressing. The door swung open, and Zevran stood on the threshold.

Darrian turned to look at Zevran, but didn’t move from his spot on the windowsill.

Zevran looked back at Darrian, and he didn’t move from his spot on the threshold.

“Will you sit with me?” asked Darrian eventually.

Zevran moved in a sheepish and awkward manner that directly contradicted his usual gait. Darrian curled his legs toward his body so that Zevran would have room to sit down next to him, but Zevran pulled up a chair directly in front of Darrian instead. Zevran reached out carefully and brushed his fingertips against Darrian’s ribs.

Darrian wanted to grab Zevran and kiss him and forget about conversations and the possibility of losing him.

“How are your ribs?” Zevran asked softly.

“Mostly healed,” said Darrian.

He wanted to ask why Zevran hadn’t been to see him. He wanted to ask why he had been so distant, so guarded. For just a moment, Darrian wanted to speak as selfishly and bitterly as he could. But as he studied the look on Zevran’s face, he thought about what Alistair had said. Darrian brought Zevran’s hand away from his ribs and held it in his own.

“You seem different now,” said Darrian..

Zevran remained quiet for a time, staring at their intertwining fingers. Darrian allowed the silence to sit and mold around them.

“Are you certain you want to talk about this?” said Zevran eventually. “I really do not know what to say.”

“I want to know what’s changed, Zevran,” said Darrian.

“I....no, this…” Zevran was struggling. He still wasn’t looking at Darrian. Darrian traced his fingertips against Zevran’s palm slowly, and Zevran sighed. “I am acting like a child, I realize. I apologize. Let me try to explain.”

Zevran rested his elbows on his knees and held Darrian’s hands in both of his before continuing. His eyes were still trained downward.

“An assassin...must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless. I thought it was the same between us. Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…”

Darrian wanted to allow the silence to sit again, to give Zevran time to form his thoughts. He wanted to remain calm and suave. He did not intend to blurt out what he said next.

“Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

Darrian clamped his mouth shut, literally biting his tongue. Zevran looked at him and for a moment his features were frozen in shock. Then, strangely,  _ miraculously _ , Zevran smiled and didn’t look away.

“I don’t know,” he said, and his smile faded minutely. “How would you know such a thing? I grew up among those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. Everything I have been taught says...says what I feel is wrong.”

Darrian’s heart was beating so hard and fast that he was feeling faint again. There was a pause that lasted an eternity before Zevran spoke again.

“Yet I cannot help it. Since you asked me into your tent, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?”

Darrian traced his fingertips up Zevran’s arms, over his shoulders, to his face. He caressed the tattoo on his cheekbone and Zevran closed his eyes and sighed softly. Darrian wanted that image forever. He leaned forward and kissed Zevran slowly. Zevran deepened the kiss and pulled at Darrian’s waist. Darrian straddled him, gasping, and pulled away just enough to be able to speak.

“I’m just as clueless as you,” he said, pressing his forehead to Zevran’s. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Come now, my Warden,” said Zevran, the usual mischief back in his voice. “It hasn’t been so many days.”

He stood and Darrian wrapped his legs around Zevran’s waist. Maker, he was stronger than he looked. Zevran carried him over to the bed and layed him down softly. Barlo grunted, peered at them, then padded from the room, presumably to sleep the rest of the night in Alistair’s room.

They moved in direct contrast to their first night together. Then, it had been hurried and fevered, neither of them willing to endure another second of the sexual tension that had built between them for weeks. Darrian remembered that night in flashes. He would remember this night in paragraphs.

Zevran undressed Darrian with care and reverence. Darrian traced his hands along Zevran’s body more slowly and deliberately than he had ever allowed himself to. When they moved together -- Zevran with his back against the headboard, Darrian in his lap -- it was with passion and purpose. Darrian had never felt anything like this before. He thought he was beginning to understand how sex could be called making love. They hadn’t said the words, and Darrian wasn’t sure when they would. He knew he wasn’t ready yet, and suspected the same of Zevran. Not when the world was still ending. Not when they both already had so much to lose.

“All I need to know is if there might be some future for us,” Zevran whispered in his ear as their hips moved together. “Some possibility of...I do not know what.”

“I don’t know either,” said Darrian, his words giving way to a moan. “But I know how I feel about you. Maker, Zevran.”

Zevran moaned and took hold of Darrian around the waist once more, flipping him onto his back and thrusting into him with more intensity. Darrian clung to Zevran tightly. Every movement, every touch was communicating more than anything either of them could have spoken.

 

It took Zevran a few moments of searching to find his pants. He was still naked as he walked the room -- as was Darrian, sprawled on the bed looking beautiful and sated.

“Come back,” he groaned. “What are you doing?”

Zevran took a deep breath and returned to the bed, holding out his palm as he sat down next to Darrian.

“I...still have the earring,” he said, and he suddenly felt terrified again. “I would like to give it to you....as a token of affection. Will you take it?”

Darrian examined the earring, and Zevran had to remind himself that, like before, Darrian might not understand what his silence was doing to him.

“That sounds like a proposal.”

It wasn’t a question. Darrian really was the most infuriating man.

“Not unless you wish it,” said Zevran.

Proposal wasn’t necessarily the right word, after all. To Zevran, a proposal was when you asked something of someone else. Zevran did not want to ask anything more of Darrian. He had already given Zevran so much. Now it was Zevran’s turn to give a part of himself. He still wasn’t sure entirely why he had decided upon the earring. It wasn’t the earring itself that mattered, it was what it represented. What it said.

_ I am yours _ .

“I’ll take it,” said Darrian, curling his fingers around the small stud.

“Then that is enough for me. I am sorry for acting so strangely. I think I will be better, now,” said Zevran, pulling Darrian against him once more. “Much better.”


End file.
